


One Hell of a Christmas

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Smut, Exhibitionism, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Christmas with the Weasleys is, inexplicably, one of Draco’s favourite holiday traditions—but this year it has nothing to do with Molly Weasley’s baking and everything to do with a certain red-haired dragon tamer that he and Hermione find themselves drawn to.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 22
Kudos: 295
Collections: Deck The Halls with Dramione





	One Hell of a Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas! First, please, please give it up for jaxxinabox's _incredible_ artwork! I was so excited when I saw that I got to work on a story inspired by her art because I just love it so much. This story did get away from me a bit and ended up including a third, which I hope is okay. I saw the photo and thought, "hmm, I wonder what would happen if someone walked in and saw them like this," and here we are.
> 
> Please make sure to go like jaxx's photo and share the love for all her hard work on her Instagram [Tumblr](https://jaxx-in-a-box.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jaxx_art_box/?hl=en/)

**One Hell of a Christmas**

Of all the Christmas traditions that Draco had inherited upon marrying Hermione, Weasley family Christmas was the one he surprised himself by enjoying most.

It wasn't that he _liked_ the Weasleys—at first, they'd been more of a necessary evil that he'd had to navigate in order to win the witch he'd become so inextricably interwoven with. But he’d grown to actually enjoy their presence—even Percy's after he’d settled down with Pansy.

They just were, much to his surprise, quite welcoming of him. Even Ron had managed to put aside his more childish whims after Hermione had sat them down together and given them both a stern talking to. Even Draco and Charlie had struck up a close-knit relationship in years past, predicated on a shared interest in the dangerous allure of fire.

And Molly was quite possibly his favourite witch after Hermione and his mother. 

All that to say, Draco didn’t mind the holiday with the Weasleys. It was cozy and warm in an unexpected, albeit pleasant, way that he’d not experienced with holidays at the Manor. Hermione usually enjoyed them too, but this year...

"Did you get the presents?" Hermione called from the depths of the closet.

Draco stalked towards it, shrunken presents in hand. "All of them—even Ron's and Scarhead's."

"Draco—"

He rolled his eyes. "Even Potter's. I told you, though, they'd be just fine without the presents anyway. They actually believe in that whole ‘your presence is present enough’ rubbish."

Hermione emerged from the closet, her hair pulled back into a low chignon. The sleek hairstyle attempted to dress up the Weasley jumper she had on, but there was no saving the monstrosity. He grinned anyway and swooped in for a kiss. When he pulled away, she grimaced. "I packed overnight bags for us. I'd like to make it back here this evening, but you know how Molly is."

He nodded, pulling her coat off the hanger and holding it up for her. "She'll insist we stay and sleep on the sofa. Already planned ahead."

"And it'll be useless to protest because she'll ply us with alcohol beforehand," Hermione fretted as she slipped her arms into the garment.

In return, her fingers flew over the front of his own jumper—emerald green with a shining, silver D embroidered in the front of it—and straightened the collar of the oxford he wore beneath it. If he was forced to wear the monstrosity, he'd at least not suffer through the itchiness of the yarn for the whole day. That was a lesson learned once. 

"Never thought I'd see the day when _I'm_ more relaxed about spending the holiday with the Weasleys than you are," Draco muttered, capturing her hand and pulling her in for a hug. "Hermione, stop. We both look fine, but we're going to be late if you don't stop fussing. Then we'll really be on the receiving end of Molly's ire." 

She sighed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I know. I just—what if we spend Christmas just the two of us?" She tap danced her fingers up his spine as she peered up at him. "We could find a tree, decorate it together, spend the evening in front of the fire… no itchy Christmas jumpers or schmoozing my ex’s family. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “Hermione, what’s gotten into you? I know it’s not ideal, but you love Christmas with the Weasleys. You’re the reason I got tangled up in this mess in the first place.”

A series of emotions chased across her face too quickly for Draco to follow, but she settled on a brittle smile. “Nothing, it’s fine. I just hoped to get you alone for a bit.”

Humming, Draco leaned over to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "You’ll have me alone when we get back tomorrow. I'm envisioning an evening in front of the fire that's probably _far_ different than the one you have in mind."

"Maybe. Maybe not." A wicked grin lifted her lips as she shifted onto her toes and captured his lips with hers. 

With an audible groan, Draco deepened the kiss. He desperately wanted to bury his fingers into the neatly coiled hair at the nape of her neck, but he pulled away with a dissatisfied huff. "You, witch, are dangerous. Quit distracting me."

Hermioen affected a contrite expression that Draco didn't believe for a minute. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm," he responded, using her shoulders to turn her towards the door. "To the Floo with you. We're late." 

Hermione huffed as she walked away. "Thought you always finish what you start?" 

"I do—but I didn't start that one, Granger," he drawled, dipping his hand into the canister of Floo powder. "The Burrow," he called, tossing it into the flames. 

With the arch of a brow, Hermione stepped past him and onto the hearth. Before she disappeared into the flames, she tipped her head back at him, glaring imperiously down her nose at him in an uncanny imitation of his mother. "It's Malfoy to you, sir." 

She was gone in a whirl of flame and ash, and Draco followed soon after, his laughter punctuating their departure. 

* * *

The day passed in a blur. Before Draco knew it, presents had been exchanged, food shared between them all, and stories shared around the living room as the fire roared.

It was what he had grown to appreciate most about the Weasley family Christmas in recent years: it was easy. There was no over-the-top posturing, and none of them felt the need to gift ridiculously expensive presents just to outdo each other. The holiday was meant to relax and enjoy each other’s presence.

Most of the Weasleys had retired for the night, save Ron and Charlie. The two of them sat in bitter standoff, glaring at each other over a chess board.

Draco studied the board over Hermione's head. "Charlie's got you in two, Weaselbee."

"Stuff it, Malfoy," Ron retorted, moving a pawn ineffectually to a new square.

As predicted, Charlie advanced his knight, taking the queen. "Checkmate."

A flush burned up Ron's cheeks. "Shove off." 

Draco and Charlie shared grins as Charlie stretched. "It's alright, Ronniekins. I'll let you win next time."

"That's what you said last Christmas," Ron grumbled, packing away the chess pieces.

"Fancy a rematch? I won't go easy on you," Draco snarked. Weasley was too easy to bait, even after years of tentative truce. The glare he shot back at Draco was predictable.

Hermione, nestled between Draco's thighs and absently tracing the expanse of his knee overtop his trousers, tutted at them both. "Alright, boys. I think it's time to head to bed before someone resorts to hexing." She hadn't even bothered to open her eyes.

Draco rose, rolling his shoulders as he extended a hand to Hermione. "Come on, love. Let's head home." 

Before either of them could move, Charlie shook his head. "Not a chance; Mum offered for the two of you to stay the night. She doesn't want you both travelling, via Floo or otherwise, after the wine we had tonight. I'll help you transfigure the sofa into a bed." 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco squeezed her shoulders. "Charlie is right; besides, it's already late and we brought our bags just in case. Go get changed." 

Grumbling, Hermione stood, reaching over him to grab the bag he'd stowed away earlier in the day. 

"You're lucky that you're cute," she muttered, pressing a kiss to the bow of his lips. She leaned back, fidgeting with the bottom of her jumper as she turned to Charlie. "We can take care of the sofa—why don't you head on up to bed? No need to wait around on us." 

Without waiting for a response, she marched towards the loo, bag in hand. 

Ron and Charlie watched her go, twin grins on their faces. 

Shaking his head, Charlie turned back to him as he summoned his own bag from near the Floo. "You’re a lucky bastard, Malfoy. Still don't know how you managed to lock her down." Ron muttered his agreement.

Draco nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I’m well aware of that every day." 

After several more jabs, both the wizards left the room. Ron traipsed up the steps, his footsteps lumbering and loud, and Charlie disappeared into the kitchen.

As soon as silence fell in the room, the loo door cracked open, and Hermione peeked out.

"Are they gone?" she asked. Her gaze darted around the room, but she didn’t budge from her post, a head floating in the open doorway.

"Well—" Draco began, but she stepped out before he could finish.

He’d expected her typical choice of short sleeve pajama set, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she wore one of his oxfords. The fabric of it swallowed her lithe frame, and she'd buttoned it haphazardly, leaving one tail trailing over the flesh of her very bare thigh. Thin, translucent white stockings covered her calves and hugged the swell of her knee.

Just beneath the hem of his shirt, he could see the crossing straps of a garter belt holding up the stockings.

Apparently he’d been _very_ good this year.

On nimble feet, she glided towards him, carefully avoiding the creaks and groans of a floor she'd learned years ago. 

In seconds, she'd crossed the room and stood over him. "Hi."

"Hello there," he whispered, throat tight around the sudden wave of desire that gripped him. 

She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt again, uncertainty washing over her features. "I hoped we'd go home, but I packed your present... just in case. I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you." 

He reached out, ensnaring the hand that worried the trailing hem. The flesh of her thigh beckoned him like a siren, and he reached for her. "And all of this—it's for me?" 

“Of course it is.” She nodded once, decisively. "I didn't know what to get you—what do you get for the wizard who has it all or buys the things he doesn't?—and Pansy suggested this, so..." Colour diffused over her cheeks, and her gaze shuttered. "It's silly, really. I shouldn't have—"

His fingers curled around the back of her thigh, and he pulled her towards him. "You're brilliant." 

A shy, mischievous grin lit her features, and she finally relaxed, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and bury itself in his hair. Gooseflesh sprang to life in its wake. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he muttered, tracing the tops of her stockings. "Is this why you’ve been off all day?

Hermione bit her lip again, and Draco resisted the urge to pull it free. “I just wanted it to be a special holiday,” she explained, refusing to look at him. “We haven’t gotten to spend one alone yet, and—” 

“Next year. I promise." Draco interrupted, pulling her closer to him. Reverent hands traced the swell of her hips. “Do I get to unwrap you?” 

The question immediately wiped the trepidation from her features, but she rolled her eyes. "I would have thought that line was beneath you, Malfoy."

"Yes, well forgive a man for forgetting a large swath of his vocabulary when his wife parades around in front of him in nothing but his shirt and—" he took a quick once-over of her "—presumably some kind of Christmas-themed lingerie beneath it?" 

“Why don’t you find out?” Hermione offered, tilting her chin up in defiance.

Draco didn’t need to be asked twice.

He unwrapped her slowly. Each button slipped free of their buttonhole, revealing the present beneath.

Deep crimson fabric encased her, hugging the curves of her waist and breast. The fabric was soft and velvety, trimmed in a ridiculous white ruffle that tickled his skin. When he pushed the oxford from her shoulders, he sucked in a deep breath. 

"Happy Christmas to me," he whispered, leaning forward to brush kisses over her stomach. 

Her fingers curled into his hair, gently tugging it as she sank into his lap. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

He’d never get enough of kissing Hermione. The first time he’d done so, after an argument in the Leaky over the efficacy of different potion ingredients, he’d known. That had been it for him. Convincing her had taken much longer, but every kiss since had been a study in his devotion to her. This one was no different.

He pillowed her lips with his, carefully cradling her head as he traced the seam of them with his tongue. Despite his best attempts to savour the moment, the kiss grew heated, both of them pressing as close as they could. 

With a gasp for air, Hermione pushed him back, towering over him as he sank into the cradle of throw pillows at his back. The low, amber light of the fire illuminated her, and his heart clenched. 

"Hermione, are you sure? Someone could walk in, and—" He froze, suddenly distinctly aware that Charlie had gone into the kitchen several minutes ago. The kitchen that was on the _opposite_ side of the house from the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. From which Charlie would have to pass through the living room to get upstairs. 

If he left the kitchen, he’d walk in on them.

"Isn't that part of the fun?" Hermione answered, leaning into him and pressing kisses along the column of his neck and over the line of his jaw. "Someone might see. But that's all they get—they will see. And they'll be jealous. _You_ get me, but they don't." She pulled away, eyeing him with wild eyes, pupils so large they swallowed the depth of brown he'd fallen for. 

She shifted in his lap, the warmth of her thighs soaking through the silk of the trousers he'd been given. Suddenly very conscious of his lack of knickers he banded his hands around her hip. "Granger, what are you?"

Her expression was determined. "You've walked around here"—she leaned forwards, her breasts brushing against his chest—"all day in that ridiculous jumper, and I can't keep my eyes off of you. And I hoped we’d get to go home so I could have you to myself, but I suppose this will have to do."

He worked his jaw, searching for a response. He cast his gaze back over her shoulder towards the kitchen doorway. It was dark save the light from the moon shining through the window. There was no sign of Charlie, but Draco was sure he was lingering inside. "Granger, I think we ought to—"

Slowly, she leaned back, staring him down as she traced a finger down the centre of his chest towards his navel. Gooseflesh sprang to life on his skin. "You're not afraid we'll get caught, are you, Malfoy?"

He _was_ , as it turned out, but it piqued his desire just that little bit more. It was dangerously enticing—though perhaps that had to do with the witch seated comfortably on his lap. 

Swallowing, he allowed his fingers to dig into her hips. "Maybe I just want to protect your integrity, Granger."

She laughed, throwing her head back. "I appreciate the gesture, dear, but it’s not necessary. All the Weasleys have gone to bed. We have the night to ourselves." Her eyes were aflame. 

His hand tightened on her incrementally. “As much as I enjoy being party to this little rebellion—and believe me, I _really_ enjoy it”—he squeezed her hip again, pulling her flush against his growing arousal—"I _really_ don’t want to wear out my welcome with Molly by shagging on her sofa.” 

Hermione huffed. When she drew back, the movement jostled their cores together. Both of them drew in a sharp breath, and Draco's resolve narrowed to a singular line between them. 

"How proficient are you at disillusionment charms, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, voice gravelly as she untucked his jumper from his trousers and tossed it aside. Miraculously, the Christmas hat George had plunked on his head stayed firmly in place.

Merlin, the witch would be the death of him.

"I'm rubbish at wandless magic, as you well know, and my wand is in my bag, so the question is how proficient are _you_ at them. Not that I approve of this by any means," he protested weakly. With hands steadier than the heart racing in his chest, he traced the seam of her costume up her side and over the swell of her ribcage, until he reached the ridiculous fuzzy ornamentation obstructing the prize he sought. "Can you stay quiet?"

"Hmm," she hummed, leaning into his touch. "Is that a challenge?"

In one swift motion, she rose from his lap, leaving him bereft of her warmth, and dropped to her knees at his feet. She made quick work of his trousers, unbuttoning them and pulling them down his legs. 

She dipped her head, engulfing him in one go, and Draco saw stars.

With almost Herculean effort, Draco managed to grind out, “Charlie is in the kitchen.” His gaze unfocused when she twirled her tongue around the tip of him

She released him with an audible pop. "Do you think he’s watching?" she whispered, not pausing in the pump of her hand over him.

His hips jerked against her fist, a flush rising to his chest. They’d talked about it before—voyeurism was an unexpected kink they shared—but he hadn’t expected to act on it at Christmas in the Weasley house, of all places. "What if he is? Would that be a problem?"

Her only answer was to lower her mouth back to his length. The warmth of it was velvety around him, and she explored him eagerly. Her tongue broad against the underside of him, she worked him in long, slow strokes, and Draco found himself mesmerized.

For as much as he wanted to plunge his fingers into her hair and control the pace, he was absolutely at her mercy. She curled the fingers of one hand over his knee, the other working his length in tandem with the flick of her tongue as she hollowed out her lips.

He groaned, leaning his head back against the pillows. His breath came in ragged, unflattering huffs that he feared would wake the whole house. He pulled her up in a swift motion, her cheeks flush with exertion. 

"Fucking hell, Granger," he muttered, pulling her astride him. 

She grinned slyly at him. Her lips were swollen from her efforts, and a glimmer shined in her eyes. “I thought we needed to be quiet?” 

Draco laughed, but he didn’t allow her to bask in the satisfaction of catching him off guard. Banding one hand around her waist, he pulled her back atop him, tracing a finger down the centre of her chest. He lingered at the band of fuzz over her breasts, flicking his gaze up to hers. “We’re just getting started, Granger.” 

He peeled the lingerie off her in one fell swoop, leaving her bare before him save the stockings. He allowed his hands to wander, exploring her body as if it was the first time all over again.

She was taut on his lap, watching him with hooded eyes. “Are you going to do anything or just admire me all day?”

He cocked his brow at her, running his hand over the smattering of hair over her core. “So impatient. I thought the present was for me?” 

“Hmm, I think we can both garner some enjoyment from it, don’t you think?” she whispered, her breath hitching as he dipped a finger between her folds. 

He mirrored the strokes she’d taunted him with, long and languorous and avoiding the parts of her he knew she desperately wanted him to touch. She shifted on his lap, following the motion of his hand to chase the high he withheld from her. Gently cupping her jaw, Draco captured her lips with his as he lined himself against her core and pressed slowly into her. 

They froze, adjusting to the sensation, before he moved, pushing up into her with long, languid strokes. 

Draco felt like he was burning. The heat of the fire, the frantic desire coiling between them, the heart-racing intensity that the potential of being caught fueled in them all drove their coupling in a desperate heat of adrenaline.

Red-hot heat drove through him, and his hips snapped forward, driving him deep inside Hermione.

The movement earned a deep guttural moan from her, and she dropped her jaw open. Without second thought, he leaned forwards, nipping at her breast. "You like that, Granger?"

He traced over the curve of her jaw, fingers lingering on the pulse point at her throat. He wanted to latch his teeth there, feel what she sounded like when she arched into him.

He was utterly wrecked for the witch.

Reluctantly, he allowed his hands to fall between them, fluttering over the ball of nerves just above their joined bodies. With a flick of his thumb, he sent a flurry of spasms through her. 

Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, biting her lip so hard that little white indentations pressed into the flesh.

The floor creaked behind them, and Draco's head shot up, his eyes flying open.

Charlie stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a mug of tea clasped tightly in his hands. Even from the distance, Draco could see how tight the other man's jaw was. Draco swallowed thickly, a furious flush racing over his cheeks. "Hermione—" 

She rocked on him slowly, glancing over her shoulder at the other man. "Hello, Charlie. Enjoying the show?"

Charlie's throat worked in a swallow, gaze intent on the juncture of Hermione and Draco's body. "Very much so." 

"I do apologise," she said, the end of the word drawing out in a hiss as she came back down on Draco. "I just couldn't help myself. I'm sure you understand." 

His gaze was torn between rapt attention to where their bodies connected and Granger's face. Draco was powerless to stop his hips from jumping when Hermione ground against him, and he muttered a swear.

“Not at all,” Charlie muttered, his grip tightening on the cup enough that it was a wonder if didn’t break. “Please don’t mind me.” With a forceful blink, Charlie turned away from them, aiming for the stairs as a flush to rival Draco’s coloured the tips of his ears.

Before he could stop himself, Draco cleared his throat. “Stay.” 

Freezing, Charlie glanced back at them. “Pardon?”

Hermione laughed, low and sultry. “Draco wants to know if you’ll stay.” She lifted up on his length until he was just slotted in her opening, then lowered herself back down on him. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she went, and she lifted a hand to caress her breast. “There’s never a good time to ask, but—” She opened her eyes and looked back down at Draco.

He’d give the witch whatever she wanted, and suddenly the night came into sharp focus.

She’d been planning this all day. Charlie _always_ stayed behind to help him transfigure the bed while she changed. He _always_ took a cup of tea before bed. 

She and Draco had discussed the possibility of inviting him into the bedroom with them after a particularly illuminating night at the White Wyvern months ago. There’d just never been a good time— 

Until Granger took matters into her own hands. 

“Stay,” Draco said again, his hands splaying over her hips as Charlie turned and approached them again, leaving his cup of tea abandoned on the mantel. 

Hermione stood as he approached, turning her back to Draco, who guided her down onto his cock again. She was tighter this way, her arse flesh against his abdomen, and he hissed at the connection. 

Even as confusion washed over Charlie’s face, he crouched before them, his hands in tight fists at his side. “Hermione—I—” He sucked in a breath, meeting Draco’s gaze over her shoulder. “Are you _sure_?”

Draco rolled his eyes, shifting so that Granger slipped lower on him. “Weasley, shut up and kiss her.”

The ginger-haired man obliged, his large palms engulfing her waist. 

Draco thought he might have been jealous of the action, the way Charlie seemed to stake his claim on Hermione without reservation, but he marveled at the way her body responded to the other man. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair in unadulterated greed as Draco continue to piston in and out of her.

Charlie took no prisoners. Though his touch had started tentative, he soon roamed her body, learning the places that Draco had come to love and discovering new ones he noted for later.

The twinkle of lights from the Christmas tree bathed them in dancing shadows. They followed in Charlie’s wake, obscuring the exact meeting of his mouth with Hermione’s skin. Between them, Hermione flared brightly as they drove her higher. It only seemed to drive Draco’s desire, a fierce need to watch his witch and this wizard as they indulged in each other for the first time.

Draco desperately hoped it wasn’t the last.

All too soon, Hermione’s motions became disjointed, and Charlie clamped a hand over her mouth to quell the uninterrupted stream of quiet moans and whimpers that left her lips. 

Charlie leaned forward, decorating her collarbone with hundreds of open-mouthed kisses. “Such a good girl, Granger. What do you need?”

When his hands peeled away, Hermione loosed a long, low moan. The space of several long seconds passed as she fought to gain her bearings, and in the end, all she was able to mutter was a desperate plea as Draco propped his chin on her shoulder and fluttered his fingers over her clit. “Kiss. Kiss Draco, please.”

Both men froze for just a moment.

Charlie’s eyes flickered—the tiniest hint of triumph shining within—before they crashed together. 

Kissing the Weasley was entirely different than it was Hermione. Where she was a slow burning, barrel-aged bourbon, Charlie was firewhisky straight out of the bottle. He burned against Draco, all tongue and teeth. Draco gave as good as he got, teeth clamping on the man’s lip as he pumped furiously into Hermione.

She shattered over him with a quiet gasp, their names a rapid-fire plea on her lips, and he followed over the edge, completely wrecked as Charlie explored his mouth.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it took him to come back to earth, so nestled he was in the warmth of Hermione and the burn that Charlie’s touch left behind. 

The evening had scalded him clean through, but he didn’t regret a single moment of it. 

Finally, Hermione broke, her voice timid between them. “So…”

“So,” Charlie answered with a laugh, picking his head up off her other shoulder to glance between them. He kept his gaze carefully shuttered when he looked at Draco. “One hell of a Christmas.” 

All three of them laughed, jostling Hermione on Draco’s lap. Both of them winced, and she carefully rolled off him and summoned her wand. Sitting amongst their opened presents, she cleared the evidence of their evening from their skin with a wave. 

Hermione’s cheeks were tinged pink, whether from exertion or embarrassment Draco didn’t know, but she managed a brilliant smile at both of them. “We thought you might be interested after the White Wyvern, but—”

Charlie lifted a hand. “ _Very_ interested. And happy to oblige again any time you need it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t ignore the pleased thrill that ran through him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Weasley.”

“Nothing to get ahead of when you responded the way you did, Malfoy,” Charlie threw back. The familiar heat of his gaze burned into Draco. “I’ll leave you two to it, and we can discuss the… particulars of this arrangement later, yeah?” 

Hermione nodded, touching her fingers to her lips. “Yeah. We’ll owl you?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck but disappeared from the room with a wink, leaving them alone.

Hermione turned to him, her eyes assessing. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

He snickered in response, clasping her chin and pulling her in for another long kiss. “You’re a menace, witch. Should have been in Slytherin for a stunt like that.” 

She hummed her agreement. “Maybe—it’s the courage to actually orchestrate it that landed me in Gryffindor.”

Charlie returned, a fresh cup of tea in hand and a sheepish look on his face as he rocked from foot to foot. “Well—” 

“Happy Christmas, Charlie,” Hermione interrupted with a laugh. “Look for our owl.” 

Charlie waltzed to the stairs, a dumb grin on his face as he met Draco’s eyes. “Happy Christmas, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, LK, for hosting this event and inviting me to participate! Love you the most ❤️


End file.
